The Space in-Between Us
by The Happily Never After
Summary: Captain Swan Moments. Scenes I wished that were on the show. Chapter 5: Some Killian Jones inner turmoil over gaining and losing his hand in a day and keeping secrets from Emma.
1. I talked you walked away

**"I talked; you walked away."**

He had that look in his eyes. The one that told her that he was weighing his options.

Let her be?

Push?

Distract?

It was a look that was easy for Emma to read (he'd been wearing it since the moment she met him). Whatever it was cooking up in his exquisitely clever mind, she knew that she wasn't going to like it. In fact, Emma was going to continue to revel in her state of denial curled up on the Captain's bunk with her blanket covered legs holding up the propped open book. The text was beginning to blur under her exhaustion no matter how fascinating the adventures of a red handed female pirate were.

"Love," his voice echoed in the silence.

 _Here we go._ Emma reluctantly looked up at his form towering over her with a knee propped against the bunk. Without his leather jacket, she was able to fully admire his vest clad chest and paisley sleeved arms. Only man in all the realms who could pull that one off.

"Sweetheart," he began tentatively (which only inspired Emma to bite back a groan in the shadow of an impending argument).

"I thought you were going to make me a hot cocoa?" she asked trying to divert the conversation. Killian reaching back to his desk with a deft hand to grab the ancient looking mug resting innocently against the hardwood surface.

"One hot chocolate topped with your preferred whipping cream and cinnamon spice," he announced with a flourish of his hook while depositing the hot beverage in her waiting hands.

"You're the best."

"Aye, that I am." He answered her with a cheeky grin while maneuvering himself to a seated position against the pillow-less shelf the acted as a headboard. "I'm afraid, however my darling, that you have commandeered all of my pillows."

Emma only barely hid the grin behind the mug of her favorite drink. "Well, you need better pillows."

"Granny you mean," he answered.

She looked over the rim of the mug with a raised eyebrow.

He answered her eyebrow with his own infamous one. "I took those pillow's from the good lady Granny's inn when my ship was returned."

"You stole pillows from Granny?" She asked.

"I simply acquired them from her establishment." The look of innocence only went so far on his face.

"The ones you stole," she reiterated.

"Pirate," he said with a casual shrug and leaning across the bed to kiss her forehead. The casual intimacy she had with him was surprisingly easy to get used to, as if they just had fallen into it or if it had been a lifelong practice. Brushes against skin and lips, a hand to hold (sometimes a hook), arms that held her, gentle touches that often turned into touches packed with lust, all these things were just icing on the cake for having a man who understood her, supported her, and…. well that other thing that Emma was still stubbornly not acknowledging.

It also didn't hurt that she had been insanely attracted to him ever since the time between pulling him out from a pile of corpses to the moment she made a deal with a giant. Seriously, no one should look that good dressed in rags and surrounded by death. _Damn him_.

"I think it's time we talked about it," Killian announced almost suddenly when he positioned himself on the bed next to her left. His hand rested warmly on her jean clad thigh giving her a gentle squeeze when he finished re-settling on the bed.

"About what?" Emma asked knowing that he would see right through her act. The past couple of nights she had successfully distracted him with either exhaustion or other nocturnal activities while she stayed with him on the Jolly Roger.

"Come now, Swan," he said, "don't play that game."

"Killian," she all but whined. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Your parents-" he trailed off when she tensed up next to him.

"Hook," this time her voice was firm. The Emma of the past rearing its ugly head as he tried to push her.

"Emma," his voice was gentle. "This cannot go on forever. Eventually you and your parents-"

"Stop," her voice was just as firm as it had been a moment before, but this time she removed herself from the cocoon of warmth that he and his bed provided. The mug he had so proudly presented to her minutes before made a solid thunk on his desk when she deposited it.

"They are your parents," he continued while his slid off the edge of the bed trying to follow her only to miss her when she veered right towards the door that led to a corridor linking the underbelly of the ship together. "They love you, Swan, and they have always only wanted what was best for you."

Emma tried in vain to get away from him. She spent so much time in the past running from him, but in the past couple of months she had gotten so used to staying put and sometimes in fact almost running towards him like she had in the past couple of days after her parents revealed their true natures to her. Running from Killian had become her common mode of operation almost from the moment she met him, but she had never really succeeded getting completely away from him. Emma reached out and adoringly skimmed her fingertips along the wooden wall created by the hull of the Jolly, knowing full well that her pirate boyfriend was still following her. Finally getting the picture, Killian clearly realized that silence was the best answer, but his stubborn self was probably already composing a lyrical speech for her benefit whenever she stopped moving away from him.

From corridor to crew quarters, from galley to the stairs that led them above deck, Killian followed her quietly at a distance. This was still Emma Swan. No matter how many walls he clamored over and successfully tore down, the woman would always guard herself in these situations. The big difference of now versus the past, is that Killian knew she would eventually stop running. She was only trying to physically run from him because he was trying to bring up the topic that she had successfully outmaneuvered the past 48 hours.

Killian's silent chase finally came to a slow stall when his love stopped at the bow of the ship that was angled out towards the Atlantic. Standing only a few feet away from her hunched over form, the old pirate waited for her next move.

A scrunch of her shoulders and a deep sigh, signaled him it wouldn't be long until she crumbled.

"I don't want to talk about it," she whispered out to the sea.

"Fine," he stepped up closer to her at the rail. "We don't have to right now."

"That's it?"

"What's it, lass?"

"You done?" she turned that fiery emerald gaze at him. "You seemed pretty determined to get me to talk."

"Your flight from my cabin has now convinced me of the error of my timing," he explained simply.

After eyeing him for a moment under her long lashes, Emma stepped closer to his person. Not one to ignore an Emma Swan invitation as he saw it, Killian wrapped his arms around her pulling her tightly against his chest. The muscles that made up her beautiful body were coiled in tension even when held in his arms. Killian removed his right arm so that his hand could brush away and gather her long blonde hair over one shoulder so that his fingers could rub the skin on the back of her neck. These months of increasing familiarity with her had taught him a few tricks on calming and comforting her (just as she found his secret pathway to easing him with a gentle brush of her fingertips on the skin of his face). His Swan let out a low moan when Killian applied more pressure to her neck.

"Are you done running?" he whispered into the blonde hair on his beloved's head.

"You done with the nagging?" she retorted quickly.

Not bothering to hide the indignant sound in the back of his throat, Killian angled her body so that he could look into her eyes. "I do not nag."

"Fine," a wry smile graced her face, "but you're really good at getting under my skin."

"Oh?" He knew his smile had turned salacious enough when the twinkle in her eyes turned playful. "Skin you say?"

"You know what I meant," she said, clearly struggling at keeping her voice even as he fully turned her and pressed his body fully against hers.

"I think," he emphasized his words with his hand that had returned to back of her neck. "That you, my darling, are way too tense for such a fine night as this."

"And what is the Captain suggesting?" She teased, tilting her head back to see him.

It was hard to keep his train of thought when she looked at him like that. Cheeks flushed despite the cold, eyes reflecting the clear night sky, hair windswept and tousled like…. "Well, Swan," he punctuated her name with a kiss on one of her ideal cheekbones while trying to focus in the moment. "This Captain thinks we should return below deck so I can put my skillful hand and hook, as you so called them, to good use."

"I did not…" her mouth dropped open and then started to curl up on the edges with a smile. "You're taking it out of context."

"What do you say, love? These muscles of yours are _begging_ , literally _dripping_ in the need of respite."

"You are out of control," she laughed. "Seriously. Stop."

"Stop?" He turned on the full force of the pout that he knew would make her cave into him while squeezing her body even closer to him. "Stop what? Searching for ways to _please_ you?"

"You are being," she squeezed him to her with a strength that equal his. "A scoundrel." She rubbed her nose against his. "A pain in my ass." He felt a hand drift low on his back, her long fingers teasing the edge of his trousers. "A ridiculous tease of a pirate."

"A tease? Who are you calling a tease?" He pulled her away from the rail back the way they had come. "I'll show you just how far from a tease I am. We cannot have word get out that Captain Hook does not fulfill his promises."

"You promised skillful," she reminded him as their boot clad feet echoed in tandem on the deck of the Jolly.

"Your words, Swan, not mine," he said while keeping her body firmly close to his delighting in the sound of his lass' laugh in what felt like the first time in days.

A/N: Currently, still trying to figure out their inner voices.


	2. Lovesong by The Cure

_A/N: First part set between 4a and 4b, second part set post 4b_

* * *

He was always calling it magic.

She was always correcting him.

Technology.

This so called "land without magic" seemed to be filled with a magic of its own kind. Without a shred of doubt, Killian had a habit to be baffled by the strange things that filled this land he was trying to shape his new life in. (He knew the irony of that statement considering just how long of a life he's had thus far.)

Lately it was music.

More specifically, it was sitting in Swan's spectacular yellow vessel listening to this world's music.

The variety! It could be almost overwhelming if he let it. Smooth to harsh beats. Strange almost tinny, unnatural voices to the crooning of a man's voice who Swan simply named "Frank." There were instruments that he could somewhat recognize that must be similar to the ones back in his home-realm, and ones that he could not even put a name to or understand the manner of which they were played.

 _It was bloody cold outside._

He often loathed to ever admit a defeat to the weather, but this time he acquiesce to the harsh chill in the air when his lady Swan asked if she should keep the car "running." The question had only given him a slight pause, but he quickly inferred her meaning of allowing her vessel to keep piping in the hot air into its cabin.

Another plus side to keeping it "running," was the control he had of the musical offerings of the mysterious magic- no, technology- that Swan called a radio.

Killian had to reach across himself to reach the circular knob that twisted to and fro that turned the crackling sound into something resembling coherent noise. He couldn't settle on anything in particular, and his arm was starting to feel the burn at holding it at such an awkward angle.

 _Where was she?_

Swan had only said it would take her a short minute to acquire what she needed from the Dark Star Pharmacy, and that he could wait here. It didn't take much for Killian to read into what she was saying, and when Swan said he "could" wait here, she really meant that he "had no choice but" to wait here. Her short minute had evolved into a considerable amount of time.

 _ **"put your hand upon my hip-"**_

"What the hell is this nonsense?" Killian muttered and kept spinning the dial until some voices filled the cabin.

 _ **"Tell me what he did,**_ " a deep female voice urged soothingly.

Another, somewhat distant sounding voice (which sounded a lot like when Swan or her boy spoke to him through the talking phone) answered with a, _**"I think he's seeing someone else."**_

"You better get back soon, Swan." Killian kept using his fingers to search for something somewhat listenable.

It was the drums that stopped him at first, when a melody reached out to him through apparatus that was called a speaker.

 **Whenever I am alone with you… you make me feel like I am home again.**

 **Whenever I am alone with you… you make me feel like I am whole again.**

 **Whenever I am alone with you… you make me feel like I am young again.**

 **Whenever I am alone with you… you make me feel like I fun again.**

Killian felt as if his heart had skipped a beat and realigned itself to match the rhythm of the music. Catching his breath as he reminded himself to breathe, Killian turned his head to peer out the window to see if he could catch sight of her bright hair.

 _There she is._

She was carrying on what looked like a reluctant conversation with one of her mother's dear dwarf friends that was behind the counter. He knew the name of that one… he thinks, but rather than scrounge around for name he would really not bother knowing, he basked in the rare chance of watching her without her knowledge as the relevant song continued to play through what Swan called speakers.

It had been some time now that he didn't have to hide when he was choosing to watch her while his thoughts carried away with themselves. In the past, he had taken to hiding in dark shadows and around corners in order to watch her undisturbed. Always wanting her. They were not necessarily untoward thoughts (though he cannot deny those thoughts that made his pulse race and body respond to just the thought of her.) The wanting of her was multifaceted. Wanting to be near her. Wanting to help her. Wanting to protect her. Wanting to be a better person for her, because of her, inspired by her…

The shift to " _now"_ and _"together_ ," still had a way of surprising him. He could look at her. He didn't have hide away, and it was always so delectable when she caught him in his studies of her. The way her fair skin flushed, green eyes wide, smile defeating her stubborn ways when it won its battle as it curled up and raised the apples of her cheeks.

For some strange and mysterious reason the fair Emma Swan had allowed him to be near her and take up a presence in her life.

"Sorry, that took so long."

The vengeful, cold draft rushing into the vessel made him flinch before Swan's voice startled him out of his musings.

"What are you listening too?"

The music was uncomfortably loud to carry on any conversation, so Killian reached over to twist the other knob that controlled the level of volume.

"Nothing," he tried to smile, but he knew how unconvincing it was. No doubt Swan would see right through him.

Emma held his gaze for a beat before glancing down at the radio controls. "I should have known," she said with a shake of her head. "You're so old school." The song that had grabbed his attention so greatly started to wind down to its finish.

"It grabbed my fancy."

"Uh huh," she smiled a small wistful thing, while reaching over to trace his cheek with the scar from his youth. She'd been doing that a lot lately; not that he would ever complain. "You would go for The Cure."

"The what-?" He asked absentmindedly, more focused on her lovely fingers still lingering on his skin.

"It's a band. The Cure. The song you were just listening to."

"Oh right." He struggled at properly listening to the specific words she spoke and more on the way her green eyes glinted in the midday light.

"Are you even listening to me?" Emma asked. She pitched her voice so that she sounded irritated, but he knew better.

"Of course, love," he leaned over the space between the seats to hover near her. "I'd be an idiot to ignore you." He whispered before he captured her lips with his in a borderline indecent and lingering kiss. Swan's yellow vessel was not really cut out for anything more than "innocent,"- not that they hadn't put a good effort in on occasion.

"Better cool it, buddy," she warned barely putting any space between them, "before my father the sheriff arrests you for public indecency."

"I'd prefer if the sheriff who is currently present arrest me," he teased kissing the apple of her cheek. "Those handcuffs of yours are always teasing my imagination with the fun that could be had."

Her laugh was more melodic than any song he could stumble upon.

* * *

He knew his hiding spot really wasn't a convincing secret, so he couldn't really begrudge Henry for finding him on the bench on the dock across from the Jolly. Swan's boy was only trying to reach out to him the only way his charming self knew how to do.

"It's an ipod."

Killian nodded as he did whenever one of the people of this realm mentioned things he couldn't even begin to fathom. He loathed letting anyone see his lack of knowledge or limited ability of navigating the technology that dominated the life of this realm.

Emma and Henry (on the occasion Belle) were normally the only ones he let in and see his inability to follow some of the basic conversations about the devices all around them.

But with Emma…. with her not being there… He just couldn't.

He didn't care what, or how, or why these things worked. He just wanted her… He wanted her back. He wanted those days of discovering each other and learning how to be with each other back. He wanted those tormenting moments where he just _knew_ that those three little words were on the tip of her tongue when she promised to see the best in him, when he revealed his belief of his happy ending with her, when she about knocked the wind out of him when her clever lad defeated the Author.

"It plays music."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow at the boy with her cheeks, with her tenacity, with her glinting mischief in his eyes, with her capacity of love.

"It's mom's."

With that information, Killian finally looked at the small object in Henry's hands. "I've been listening to it, a lot," the boy went on. "There's a playlist on it… there's no title with your name on it or anything, not that I would think Mom would go that far.. but I think it's about you."

Henry offered the small rectangular object with the white cords attached to it, but Killians didn't make a move to take the object. His uncertainty evident, even to Henry.

"Here," Henry reached out to untangle the white cord and held up the strange separated ends. "You put these in your ears."

"Aye," Killias pinched a bud in between his fingers. "I have seen you with these in use before, lad."

"Right," a smile, which was rare thing these days for any of them, graced Henry's face. "This is how you scroll and control the volume," Henry moved his thumb around while presenting the screen face in Killian's direction. "Then you click to what you want to listen, too. Here," he pointed to the screen, "I left it on that playlist I was talking about,"

"Thank you," Killian's voice sounded distant, even to himself as Henry deposited the item into his hand. "I'll get this back to you."

"Don't worry about it," Henry shrugged standing up from the bench. "You can give it to Mom when she gets back."

The boy spoke with such certainty that it warmed Killian's lonely heart.

"Right you are, Henry."

"You coming to dinner with Gramps and Grandma?"

Killian had been avoiding the family dinners that had become routine with Swan and her family. It hurt too much to see her missing place at the table, but there was something in Henry's eyes. Something that reminded him of that look Swan sometimes got when she just _needed_ him-needed his presence, his support, his comfort. She couldn't ever really voice it, but all she had to do was look at him. And now Henry looked at him the same way. The idea that _her_ son could need _him_ …

"I'll be there."

"Bye, Killian."

He watched the dark head of the lad's as he traversed over the docks and down the road that headed back into the middle of the town before he looked back down at the device balanced in his hands.

He felt like a bumbling idiot trying to get the white balls into his ears.

 _Old School._

The device had those two words highlighted, a title. The title of whatever it was Henry thought was about him. Using the device like how the lad showed him, music eventually filled the tiny speakers in his ears. Familiar music.

He fought valiantly- for the grand total of 5 seconds- before the burning in his eyes awashed with unwanted tears.

The words brought back a fond memory of the heat building in her driving vessel as he chased her lips with hers while she kept promising handcuffs and a night in a jail cell if he didn't "cool it." He had revelled in her laughter when she had teased that she saw her father just over his shoulder heading their way. Her punishment for such a ruse was the mark he left just below her shoulder when he pulled the neck of her sweater just far enough to fuse his mouth on her skin….

 **However far away… I will always love you.**

 **However long I stay… I will always love you.**

 **Whatever words I say… I will always love you… I will always love you.**

"Bloody hell, Swan." He whispered out to the sea. "Please come back to me."


	3. You're a regular Jack Sparrow

_A/N: Inspired from the "you're a regular Jack Sparrow" line in the Season 4 finale. I'm in the boat for OUAT to do a POTC story line... give me all the pirates._

 _Some Charming Softball and Pirate mascot feels, some Captain Swan fluff and some mama!Snow and Emma... those two **need** some reconciliation. They've needed it ever since Emma broke the first curse. They could have a great relationship if the Once writers ever put some time into it. (A fan can dream...)_

 _Disclaimer: these weirdos don't belong to me..._

* * *

 ** _"You're a regular Jack Sparrow." Part I_**

With curses and lost memories, from New York and back to Storybrook again, all the while epic trades of a person's two (three?.. four? No, she didn't think his age stretched _that_ far) centuries' home for a magic bean, it's a small miracle that any of Emma's possessions have withstood the test of time and curses while remaining in Storybrook.

Emma's "possessions" (a few boxes of items, some clothes, some books, a box for her childhood, and of course her Bug) either came with her or she later sent for them when she finally accepted that she wasn't leaving the strange town in Maine any time soon. Her jackets, her box of memories, her favorite pair of sky high nude heels that she never gets to wear while on Savior/Sheriff duty, all these things survived the disappearance of Storybrook and the subsequent curse that brought everyone and apparently everything back a year later.

One of these items lay unmoved since its fall from the top shelf of Emma's closet to the floor of her room. Muscles tensed, Emma waited for a member of her family to come and investigate the noise from upstairs (because they were nosey and always filled with good intentions). A deep familiar chuckle echoed off the brickwalls as did the murmur of conversation. Henry's voice was easy to pick out as he was no doubt still educating Hook with the many wonders of modern technology and Netflix.

 _Just pick it up and put it back. Forget that it's up there. Go back downstairs. It's nothing._

She should have known better, it had become increasingly difficult to shut down emotions and walk away. The second the handle was touched by her fingers, she couldn't help but pull the blade from its scabbard. The metal _shinging_ sound brought back all the memories of hot sticky jungles, the terror for her son, trying to find a hold on the strange magical ability humming in her veins, the drowning feeling of "orphan-ness," the emotional confusion that made her thoughts swirl in dreaded anticipation of which man would push at her next, not to mention the impending devastation of the threat of leaving her parents behind….

The stupid thing brought _all_ of it back.

Neal's damn cutlass.

Just holding the thing left a sharp ache in her chest. She stayed crouched in front of the closet, handle in a white knuckled grip until she felt like the ache in her back and neck were beginning to outweigh the one in her chest.

"Emma?" The voice that called from around the corner at the top of the stairs wasn't the first one she expected, but in hindsight she should have known that after dashing upstairs to find another blanket to curl up under during "family movie night" (it's hard for her not to roll her eyes with that one) and then taking up too much time before the start of the movie, it would be her mother who would come looking for her. She could still hear Hook and Henry engaged in the same conversation about movies, and streaming, and the internet ( _oh god, kid, don't go into that lecture again with the old pirate_ ), and she could only assume her father was still stretched out on the couch with a sleeping baby bro on his chest.

"Emma, are you coming back down to watch the movie?" Her mother's voice held a hesitation she hadn't heard in a couple of weeks or ever since they had finally moved on from the whole Snow Queen/her boyfriend had his heart ripped out ( _hell_ … her life was strange) business. Things had been good between Emma and Mary Margaret in what felt like the first time in a while. "Emma?" Her voice was louder as she came around the corner, prompting her daughter to stand and face her, blade still in her hand.

"Emma, we were-what's that?" Eyes widening at the weapon.

Emma dropped her eyes to the offending object. "It's.. uh…" she furrowed her eyebrows as she watched her fingers slightly un-clenched and readjust her grip on the weapon as if they moved on their own. "It was.. um.. it was Neal's." She pushed out the back half of the sentence with a rush of breath.

"Oh." Mary Margaret's voice softened. "I didn't know you had that."

"Me neither," Emma said as she brought her focus up to her mom's. "I mean, I haven't really thought about, but I guess I had assumed it got lost during the missing year."

"That must have been where you left it," Mary Margaret nodded up to the shelf with the blanket hanging half off its ledge. "Everything got put back where it was left when I made the last curse… well, for the most part."

"Yeah," Emma could tell that her voice had taken on the breathy edge that if Killian had heard it he would have already been invading her personal space trying to comfort her. She was half glad that it was her mother, who still struggles at reading the emotions of her grown daughter, that found her up here.

"It's okay, Emma." Her mother came closer to her. "It's okay if you miss him."

"It's not that," she answered immediately- instinctively, before she realized how it must sound. "I mean," she swallowed trying to wet her dry throat, "it's not that _don't_ I miss him and that's why-" she struggled to formulate what she was feeling into words (something she was trying to work on) and inhaled a long breath to try and steady her racing thoughts. "I do miss him in a way, I guess. I'm sad he's not alive and not here for Henry. It's just..."

"What?" Mary Margaret asked gently after Emma paused her explanation. Now, _that_ was something her mother had been working on. Pushing her without really pushing her too soon or too hard. Waiting for Emma to open up on her own took patience and just the right kind of persistence that not many possessed.

"This," Emma raised the cutlass higher. "This.. weapon… There's just so much history… but I want _nothing_ more than to put it away and hide it. Or even just throw it into the harbor. But I can't." She lowered the blade back down with a sigh. "That history doesn't belong to me, and I'm done with being selfish just because I'm afraid to feel certain things."

"Do you want to give it to Henry?" It was a simple, unassuming question from her Mother, but Emma struggled with following.

"That's not what.. no. I mean, I guess, I should want to give it to Henry, but really all I want to do is give it to Hook."

"Hook?" Mary Margaret's eyes were wide in confusion.

"He gave it to me. Back when we first landed in Neverland and we still thought Neal was, you know-" She stooped down to grab the scabbard still laying on the ground. "He knew I was hurting, so he gave it to me because it had belonged to Neal when he was in Neverland as a boy."

"I never knew that." Her mom said with an awed tone in her voice and moving closer to get a better look once Emma sheathed the weapon. "Why didn't you ever tell me this?"

"When?" Emma asked with a shaking laugh. "Between curses and ice walls and lost memories and you having a baby?"

Mary Margaret's faced soften with a soft, wistful smile, before reaching for her daughter for unexpected hug. For once, Emma didn't flinch or prematurely pull away, but relaxed a little into the embrace.

"There are whole sides to your and Hook's story that I don't know. Isn't there?" Mary Margaret pulled away gently. "You don't have to do anything about it today," she nodded to the cutlass still in Emma's tight hold. "Come downstairs and save your poor boyfriend from another 21st century lecture from your son. Your father was a bit irritated that I wouldn't hand over a phone so he could take pictures of Hook's face." She gave Emma's forearm a gentle squeeze, grin wide with the thought of the scene she left behind to go check on her daughter, as she turned to head back down the stairs.

With a huge breath that seemed to release the weight of Storybrook (or the whole freaking planet) off her shoulders, she returned the weapon back to the shelf and grabbed the blanket she had first intended to retrieve.

Towards the bottom of the stairs, the cheerfully spirited debate of the men in the loft reached her ears in relief.

"No.. well, yes.. It's basically the same."

"Basically?" Hook was on the floor, cushion behind his back propping him up, jacket had been ditched sometime ago to reveal the dark blue sleeves of Emma's favorite shirt on him. "It either is the same or it's not, lad."

"Different signal," Henry said with a shrug. He too was sprawled on the floor, facing the pirate he was trying to lecture. "Different output and input."

The dark look of confusion turned into a verbal scoff as Henry couldn't hold back his laughter. David, still stretched out on the sofa with a snoozing baby, was watching the debate like a tennis match with a slight grin crinkling the edge of his eyes. Seriously, she leaves them alone for a few minutes and it turns into anarchy. Boys.

They all turned their heads to her as she stepped off the last step.

"Get what you needed, love?" While the question was a simple and almost rhetorical one, Emma couldn't help but feel the heaviness that had been residing in her chest seep away with the way his face lit up when she came near.

"Yup." She shook the blanket out, tossing her tied up hair over her shoulder.

"Mom, can you tell Killian that the internet is the internet? It doesn't matter if it's on a phone or a computer." The question gave her a pause… out of all the things to get stuck on.

"Why would you be talking about that, kid?"

Hook reached his hand towards her in an invitation that she accepted immediately by sliding her own hand into his. He rewarded her with a brilliant smile as he tugged her down on the ground to settle between him and her son.

"I showed him a movie trailer on my phone," Henry said with a shrug.

Laughter bubbled up, as it tended to do more often than not these days. She turned her head from Henry to peer up at Killian over her shoulder. "It's the same… but not."

"Ah," a dark eyebrow rose higher than its twin. "I see the lad has inherited his vague explanations from you." The twinge in her heart began to return with the talk of Henry inheriting traits, which always led her to think about the other parent he inherited from… _Stop. Don't think about it_.

"No way." Henry seemed offended. "Mom's way worse than me." And just like that the pain was gone with teasing from her son.

"Watch it," she poked Henry. "Mom, here, can just take that phone away."

Henry, apparently, found that threat the funniest thing he had heard all night; his laughter causing him to tip over on the floor clutching his sides. Which wasn't far from the truth considering Emma had never really needed to punish him or treat him like a lot of parents treat the children. Even in the memories Regina gave her of raising Henry since day one, she never had to really set up rules and punishments. He was just good in that way. Precocious, but with a good heart. Her sweet son. Emma knew exactly how lucky she was.

David, too, was laughing, but he succeeded in holding it together better than his grandson. He did happen to be holding a peacefully sleeping baby who he was trying to not jostle awake.

"It's all right, Swan," Killian's voice was gentle in her ear, but loud enough for the other two to here. "I weigh every one of your threats greatly and with my life. Though I do find that emerald gaze of yours to be even more beguiling when filled with anger."

"Ewww," Henry somehow managed a classic disgusted-that-my-mom-has-a-boyfriend sound between laughs.

"Watch it, Pirate. That's my daughter." David's voice lacked all of the threatening tone he used to have with Hook.

"Dad…"

"I know Dave." Hook looked over at the prince with a tongue peeking smirk and a wink, while settling his arm around Emma to pull her closer. "Can't blame her for having a weakness for pirates- _especially_ when she's practically one herself."

It was then, Emma knew exactly what they were going to watch, as her father muttered about princesses and sheriffs.

"What is going on in here?" Mary Margaret came from the direction of the kitchen holding a couple of big bowls of popcorn.

"I'm not even sure," Emma muttered while grabbing the remote and selecting the search button.

"What are we watching?" Mary Margaret settled on the couch behind Emma's head at her husband's feet, after she handed a popcorn bowl off to Henry. "I wouldn't mind seeing _Princess Bride_ again." Which prompted Emma to throw a raised eyebrow over her shoulder at her mom. "What?" Mary Margaret tried to make her voice as innocent as possible. "I like that one."

"As do I," Killian offered. Which was no doubt why her mom had mention the first movie they all sat down to with Killian. He was enthralled with the general splendor and romantic storytelling, and it was now the movie by which he measured anything that the Charming family tried subject him to.

"This one's good." Emma kept her eyes glued to the screen as she began to "type" out the movie title in the search box with the remote. Henry let out a gleeful laugh when he deducted what she was searching for. "Your either going to love this or really, _really_ hate it. Either way, I think I'll be entertain with your reaction."

"Pirates.. of…"

"There it is," Henry said when the movie title lit up in the suggestion field.

"Oh, good idea Emma," her father praised. "I'm putting money on that he's going to hate it."

"I think Killian's going to love it," Mary Margaret offered her encouragement.

"Pirates of the Caribbean?" The way Killian's smooth accent rolled the word 'Caribbean' around his mouth made Emma's stomach flip. She tried to focus on starting the movie to control her racing heart so no one notice how she was affected. Which was an attempt in vain when she felt Killian's hand squeezed her side and tapped his fingers on her hip in a teasing way. Smug bastard always knew when he had done something to get her riled up.

* * *

"How he ever made it to pirate captain is beyond me." Killian mutters about half way through the film. "The man is a barmy git. There is no way he ever rose to the position of captain."

"I dunno," Emma leaned her weight more fully into his side. "I've always thought you reminded me of him."

Killian tensed underneath her. "Swan… there's no way…" He shook his head and pulled his arm away from her shoulders. "No. You're teasing. As usual." Emma couldn't hold back the giggle at his offended look.

"Shh, you two," David said. "I like this part."

* * *

"Oh ho," Killian laughed cheerfully, "one upped him he did."

"It's a pirate's life," Henry cheered hands tossed victoriously into the air.

Killian reached around Emma to pat her son on his shoulder. "Right you are lad."

* * *

"See?" She was already close to him, but she managed to press herself even more deliciously closer to his chest. "What I tell you? You're a Captain Jack Sparrow."

Killian's groan echoed down the stairs outside her family's loft. His hook was gently pressed into her lower back rooting her to him while his hand brushed back and forth along her shoulder blades. Emma's hands mimicked his patterns underneath his jacket where she could almost feel the heat of his skin through the many layers that covered his back.

"Love, I would prefer if you kept that ridiculous notion to yourself." He tried to fashion his face into a stern look, but it completely lost its effect with the way his eyes were twinkling down at her and the way his laugh lines were showing. It would take almost nothing to make him show that full blown grin he often gifted her. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"Oh do you?" She pitched her voice lower.

"Yes, the one where everyone knows that to cross _the_ Captain Hook will be your last day to meet any crossroads."

"Really?" she pulled away slightly. "I seem to be still standing here."

"And like the many villains you have subverted from their best intentions, you have definitely weeded out all my weaknesses and bested me." He sighed as he pulled her closer.

Emma tilted her head up to kiss the underside of his scruffy chin. "Good." And despite the late hour, Emma was content to stand in the comfort of his arms with her face pressed into his neck. Every inhale and exhale he took could be felt as the hair that had escaped from her ponytail fluttered against her ear. His hand still exploring her upper back. An occasional kiss pressed into the side of her head.

She felt...

Happy.

Safe.

With the feeling of being cherished by someone who loved so deeply washing over her. She felt…

….. Loved. That's it. She felt loved.

"Emma," his voice was gentle, but it wasn't to say goodnight, not yet. "What happened earlier this evening?"

"When?" she asked, knowing exactly what he was alluding to but Emma had a deep desire to not relive the moments from earlier. This is the type of moment that Killian would normally accuse her of being 'deliberately obtuse', but as usual, he read her so quickly that he knew not to egg her on in that direction.

"Earlier," he said with a deep sigh, "when you went to retrieve some more blankets you were gone for quite some time. Then your mother disappeared after you."

"I didn't think you noticed." She lamely muttered. Of course he noticed. No matter how enthralling the conversation he was having with her son and father, he would, without missing a beat, notice her absence

"You know better than that, Swan."

 _Damn him, and his freaking mind reading abilities_ , Emma thought in exasperation.

"I got distracted."

"All is well?" He asked knowing full well the _all_ was definitely not well.

She was tempted to lie. It wouldn't be the first time Emma brushed him off of deep topic because she didn't want the accompanying emotions. A yes, or a simple nod, and he would drop it for the time being. (He'd bide his time, however, waiting for the opportune moment to bring it up again. He instinctively knowing the time when his Swan needed just the little extra push to open up without the discomfort of slamming head first into one of her walls.)

The lie didn't surface. Like earlier with her mother, Emma knew that opening up to him and for him was the right thing to do; it was what the new-ish Emma wanted to do. Just… the way his arms held her, the laughter that filled the loft during the movie still echoed around them, the ease at which he seemed to mold himself into her family, and the way she had no objection to his putting down roots into her life… these easy, comforting things were so nice. They were at peace, and Emma had enough torment to last a lifetime to bring it up tonight.

"No, all is not well," she whispered, but before he could pull away and look at her, she tightened her arms and buried her face into him. "But I don't want to talk about it."

A slight shift in the air, and Emma could tell that he didn't take that all too well. So she scrambled for the right words to ease his worry. "I will… I promise. I will tell you, but for tonight…"

"Let it be," he offered solemnly. "I can do that sweetheart."

And that was a new one. Sweetheart.

The endearments such as the occasional "beautiful" were still not as regular as "Swan" (though that "love" one was used regularly). She thinks he may have called her "darling"… once or twice, but she can't recall if that was since they started this thing between them, or from before when they were allies in the cause to save Henry (and Storybrook… and her family… and her very existence from snuffing out because of time travel debacles… _how was this even her life?_ ), or from before when she was still completely freaked out about the attractive pirate and his ever changing, fluid alliances and his ability to read her like "an open book."

Sweetheart.

No one could ever say Emma Swan was one for endearments. And she certainly didn't use them much herself (well… she did call Henry "kid", a lot, but he was her _son_. That was different.). The closest thing to endearments that she got to were teasing or sarcastic insults. She called Killian "pirate" on occasion, and what was once an insult used to test him had become something closer to an endearment (She had called Neal "babe" once upon a time, but that was so long ago she can't even wrangle an emotion to associate with the word).

She could almost see it, a life with her pirate captain. Full to the brim with nicknames and innuendos, softened by sweet words he reserved for her but….

Here. Now.

"Tomorrow." She made the promise. "We can talk tomorrow."

"It's alright, Swan."

"No," she finally pushed herself away from him. "It's… well, it's about you."

He tilted his head slightly while his hand slid down her side to grip her hip. Concern etched his handsome features. "Emma?"

"It's not bad," she rushed out. "It's.. I.. you see, I found something I thought was lost, and it brought back memories I wasn't really ready to dive into."

He stared at her for the slightest breath, before giving her a small smile upon reading into what she was trying and failing to say. "Tomorrow then?"

"Yeah," she felt the relief of not having to get into it tonight. "I'm going into the station tomorrow morning to hopefully tie up the final loose ends from our latest curse's damage. Couple of dwarves are being ridiculous about some property dispute or other with some of the Merry Men- sounds even more ridiculous when I say it out loud." She muttered that last part more to herself than him.

"Coffee in the morning?" He asked knowing the answer. Hinting at the little routine they set up at the beginning of this week.

"Yeah," she breathed and stepped back into his space. "Then lunch at Granny's and then I think we should spend the afternoon in the park."

"The park?" He asked with head tilted and an eyebrow raised high. "Are you trying to get a romantic stroll out of me, love?"

"Who says I'd have to _try_?" She teased shaking her head with a smile.

His laughter felt as if it seeped from his chest into hers. "Quite right, Swan."

"No romantic strolls, well… I mean we could.. after what I have planned."

"And what have you planned?" Killian asked.

"I want you to teach me something," she said with a grin. "But it's a surprise."

"Teach _you_ something?" He seemed amused at the thought. "What the bloody hell can I teach you in a park for that matter. I'm a pirate, love, my skills reside on the water, not on the dry land of a quaint park."

"Oh.. this is something you can do anywhere," Emma intentionally tried to place enough innuendo into her words to help encourage that dark look he gives her.

 _Bingo. There's that look._

"Well then," he spoke softly. "I shall bid you goodnight so that tomorrow can swiftly come."

"Yes," she barely brushed her lips against his cheek. "Goodnight. _Captain_." Emma especially enjoyed watching his look darken even more as his jaw slacken just a hair; pupils blowing out wide to overtake the blue in his eyes. She could do endearments with best of them, _especially_ innuendo laced endearments that lit a fire in her pirate.

It didn't take much for him to pounce on her, his lips fusing with hers in a fight for dominance, before slowly softening until their kiss turned into a sweet search of each other's mouths. After initially pulling away from her, Killian pressed a couple more chaste kisses against her lips. "Until tomorrow," he murmured; before tilting his face up to kiss her forehead. "Goodnight, Emma."

She stood on the landing outside the loft's door trying to battle with her racing heart before returning to her family and preparing for bed. _Tomorrow_. Emma thought to herself. She had good plan for tomorrow.

 **TBC with Part II**


	4. Muscle Memory

_A/N:In the season finale, I got the feeling that the whole "muscle memory" and "teach Killian some fighting skills" was way too much fun for Emma. Almost like she was getting to flip the tables on him._

* * *

"Swan, watch that foot."

The sharp sound of dulled metal clashing filled the warmer than normal air of the Storybrook park. The echo off the water carried the sound across the green grass, no doubt garnering the attention of the park's other partakers.

"You're still not minding your weight placement," he warned, yet again.

The surprise of this morning couldn't diminish the pride Killian felt when his beautiful Swan squared her shoulders with the dulled, albeit straight, blade (Emma had said that she had gotten her practice swords from her father, the upstanding knight and prince, which that meant the blades where painfully straight and heavy, lacking the curve and finesse of a cutlass. His fiery lass would benefit from a pirate's cutlass, no doubt).

"I _am_ minding," she muttered under her breath; her bright hair moving from her ragged breath. Swan's high brow glistened in the late morning light, while she once again prepared to hit and parry.

"Do we need a moment?" he asked cheekily, knowing full well what her reaction would be.

"No," she scowled. "I'm fine."

"Good." Killian fought and won the laughter and smirk that wanted to rise up. Swan was amazing at besting him, and he didn't want to put fuel to the fire. "Let's go through the 4 again."

With a nod, Emma attacked with her blade through the four positions he had taught, and then he reciprocated with the same series of attacks so that she had to practice the defensive maneuvers that accompanied.

"Weight forward," he reminded. It was definitely her greatest shortcoming. Emma had the tendency to put too much weight into her back foot as if pulling away would protect her more. Which wasn't a surprising habit of hers considering her nature of self preservation. Killian knew that she would have to eradicate that bad habit as soon as possible, and therefore he pressed forward picking up speed and pressing into the four attacks he had been using repeatedly against her until the inevitable happened with a loud thud.

Emma's glare from her seated position on the ground would have struck fear into a lesser man, but he was Captain Hook, so he just approached her cautiously with his most charming smile while offering to help her from the ground.

"What was that for?" She grumbled after finding her feet underneath her and retrieving her blunted weapon.

"You needed to learn what would happen if you keep your weight on your back foot."

"So knocking me down was your solution?" Her voice had taken on that usual prickly tone whenever she was irritated.

"No, darling," he softened his voice to try to take the ire out of hers. "I would never just knock you down."

She side eyed him as she pulled her long hair back and off her neck, unable to hide the smile pulling up. "So you say," she muttered.

"Here," he placed his weapon on the grass while slipping around her to stand at her back. "How about I teach you the next four?"

"Fine," she said. Her breath hitching as he pressed into her, his left forearm braced against her hip, his hand surrounding hers on the hilt of the sword.

"It gets better Swan," he spoke softly into her ear as he progressed from the 5th attack to the 8th, constantly manipulating her elbow and wrist in a coordination that sent the blade on larging arching patterns in the early afternoon sun. Emma had to focus extra hard on the exact motions he was showing her and not the the heat of his chest against her back, the pressure he applied into her left hip, the gentle rhythm of his breath in her ear, nor the dark grey and blue paisley pattern of his jacketless sleeve. She couldn't help her eyes from rolling: her ridiculously hot pirate boyfriend and his paisley shirts.

"Eventually," he continued teaching, "your body begins to know instinctively the pattern you need to take. In a fight, it is less about strategy and more about being in the moment and relying on your training."

"Muscle memory," Emma said.

"Hmm?" he hummed the question.

"It's what we call it here." Emma was trying her best to follow and memorize the attacks he was showing her, but she appeared to be getting more and more distracted. "You do something enough, and your body will take over."

He could tell that she felt his reaction to her words; especially, when she said that last phrase in a lower octave. His Swan knew how to play him into the palm of her hand. Left forearm pressing tighter, his heart increasing its beating into her back, his breath hitching near her neck just the right way that makes her squirm- oh so deliciously. All's fair in love and war. He knew how to play her right back.

"Aye," his voice is hoarse. "Muscle memory."

He had all but stopped moving the sword around and was simply holding her against his chest. Pirate captain reduced to a pile of amorous feelings.

"So, would you call this move offense or defense?" She teased at his obvious distracted mind.

The growl low in his chest would be unmistakable for her to feel from the position they were standing. "Swan," he pressed his lips against her ear. "You're making it rather difficult to train you."

"Training me?" She looked over her shoulder so Killian could delight in the flush that stained her fair skin. "Is that what you're doing?"

Unable to stop himself, he held her tight while his lips brushed against her, only for her to pull back far enough that he couldn't chase her in the position they were in.

"Is this how you were train?" She asked, eyebrows arching in curiosity.

"Ah," he loosened his grip. "That would be a no." And this moment was such a testament to how far he had come in life. No dark shadow fell over his face and no heavy weight clung to his heart when he spoke again. "Liam taught me."

A simple statement on an idyllic afternoon, but Swan's eyes grew smaller and the smirk she held on her lips softened in understanding. "Your brother?"

"Aye, my brother."

"I wish I could have seen that." Swan's voice was soft and blended into the sounds of wildlife that the park boasted.

"Getting my arse whipped by my brother?" He snorted.

"No… well, yes, that too," her eyes twinkled his favorite shade of green. "It's just.." she shook her head in that way that he knew if he just gave her the moment, she'll find the right words. He has learned that she will reward his patience. "I just can't imagine you like that." The white of her teeth caught his eye as her smile grew into that radiant one that he was increasingly becoming more familiar with, and he couldn't help himself from responding to it with his own. "You're just so… _you_." She waved her hand up and down at him. "But sometimes you show this other side to you that make me wonder what you were like when you were young."

"A damn naive idiot," he reaches for her to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"Uh huh," she swayed into him.

"No really, with all of my 'good form' and no rum nonsense."

"No rum?" She looked at him like she couldn't even imagine it.

"Aye," one more kiss to the corner of her mouth before he stepped back to retrieve his discarded sword. "5 through 8?"

Emma looked at him thoughtfully before giving him a curt nod and readying her own weapon. Thank every deity in the sea and sky, that his fierce love would never truly know that younger version of himself. She would never let him live it down if she knew how many rum flasks he confiscated and tossed overboard.


	5. Hook and Hand

_A/N: Not over how the show just glossed over Killian's hand being restored and taken away in just one episode. Some inner Killian Jones angst and turmoil featuring his lovely savior girlfriend._

* * *

There are days when he feels all two hundred or so years of his life, and then there are days when life seems so new and abundant. A life worth living. A life worth cherishing.

In the past few weeks under the Dark One's manipulations, he has felt every second of his life weigh upon. His old bones have ached with a weary anxiety that he would never escape his past, and he has felt that he was doomed to be haunted by the many pointless years he chased and salivated after his revenge .

The first time he lost his hand, the pain blurred and burned and mingled with pain of losing his love. His body, his heart, and his mind pulsated with pain. The first nights in Neverland his body raged with a fever from his brutal amputation and rushed cauterization. The Jolly's surgeon, who had been with Killian when he lost Liam turning his back against the king and country to follow the younger brother into piracy, pulled at all the stops he had learned from the years of his naval service. They had not a moment to spare if they were going to escape Rumpelstiltskin wrath when the imp realized that Killian had tricked him of the bean's possession. Once they had landed in the other realm, the surgeon had taken great care on his injury, until he looked at his young captain in the eye and said "that's all I can do. It's up to you now."

Killian, in all his rage fueled by pain and misery, threatened to run him through with his cutlass and feed him to sharks.

Over time, Killian healed physically and learned to withstand the pain of the leather brace. He began to revel in the sharp edge of his hook and the gleam of the metal. The skin scarred and roughened from use, and he thought, for a time, that he had one small victory over the dark one when his crew started calling him Captain Hook, and when Pan started sending him back and forth through the realms his notoriety spread on the image of curved sharpened steel.

Now, he _knows_ he never healed. Oh how vividly he knows that now.

He knows that he had never truly healed from being abandoned as a child. From losing Liam. From his fall into piracy. From Milah. From losing his hand. From Bae. From the dark years he wallowed in his pain, and anger, and blood thirsty _need_ for revenge. The scars at the end of his damaged arm were not the markings of him overcoming the Dark One's brutality, but they were the signs and maps of how very broken he was and still is. The thing he saw as a mark of his strength and perseverance, had become the mark of shame.

"What the hell happened to your hand?"

He had rationalized that he was doing it for her, as he often made decisions in light of her, but he knew better. Killian Jones wanted that hand back for himself. No more scars. No more hook. No more reminders of his darkness. In Emma's world, he was a fictional villain. The pirate with a hook who terrorized children. Wouldn't she always have some type of subconscious connection between the villain and his physical reminder of his moniker? How could she ever escape that in her mind?

He came armed with clothes of this realm, a dashing smile, a silken rose that reminded him of his Swan's skin when she flushed with desire, and a hand.

And that utterly breathtaking woman didn't care.

There was some teasing and some fascination as she held it, but at the end of their special night he was sick to the stomach with fear of the bargain he had struck.

If his selfish need to bury the old him caused damage to others or the stars forbid hurt _her_ , he would not be able to live with himself. The hand had to go. He'd overcome his shame another way. He had learned to live this new life by following her lead, basking in the shine of her rare but golden smile, and inspired by her compassionate heart. If she didn't care a damn between hook and hand. Then he would learn by her example.

"Appears the Dark One's magic wasn't all I'd hoped it to be."

A lie so buried not even Swan could detect it in her uncanny way.

There were so many lies and withheld information, that Killian was just waiting for her to notice them. Half of him wanting her to figure out the corner he had practically allowed himself to be backed into, but the other half dreading the moment she realized the man she had been opening herself up to was not twho she had thought he was.

"It's okay.

"It wasn't your fault."

"Gold had your heart."

"It wasn't really you."

And just like that she saved him again.

The air had been increasingly turning cold the past week despite the women who controlled ice and foul weather no longer residing in Storybrook.

Like moths to a flame, Killian and his Swan often gravitated towards the water. Curling into each other on one of the many benches that overlooked the harbor. Seeking not only each others warmth, but each other physical comfort. Killian had always had this overwhelming need to reach for her, touch her, make sure she was a living breathing being and not a phantom conjured by his mind almost since the very moment he met her. The difference now was how readily she accepted his touch and sought it out on her own.

"I've been thinking about that thief, Will."

Emma's voice echoed in the stillness of the cool twilight one evening they found themselves on a bench near the water.

"Who?"

"You know," she said as she tucked her temple into his shoulder of the hand she was holding. "The guy who crashed our date then showed up in the library passed out and sporting one hell of a black eye."

Killian's heart stuttered.

"Aye, what of it?"

"You did that didn't you?"

Emma's bluntness had never really tripped him over before, so why the bloody hell was it now? "Hmm?"

"Did you go looking for him? After our date, did you go after him."

"More like stumbled upon him." There was no avoiding her questions. He was the obvious culprit, and they both knew it. "I had confronted Gold, then I happened upon the thief as he was trying to break into the library."

He had explained his association with Gold. His deal for his hand. All he knew about the hat. The old man. The fairies. Gold's plan of taking his wife and Henry with him. He'd uncovered most of the dirty affair in fits and starts, and over many different conversations with others besides Swan. When it came down to it, Swan was the only one who knew most of the details, but there were bound to be some holes in her knowledge that she would seek to fill.

"So you just punched him?" There was absolutely no accusation in Emma's voice. She was simply curious and trying to make all of the connections.

"I was angry at Gold." _And myself_ , he thought. Though he knew Emma could read into what he was really saying. "He was being a drunk idiot and I don't know… I thought it was my hand, but I still don't know if it was a curse or if it was my own darkness within me taking over."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. She hadn't pulled away. Surely if she found fault in him, Swan wouldn't have leaned into him further, tightening her grip on his hand as he spoke.

"I don't know." Her voice was gentle, a rare treat that not many people were blessed to hear. "I wish I could settle that debate for you, but I can't. And," she said sitting up and turning towards him. "Neither can you."

"It's alright, Swan."

"No." She used her free hand to guide his cheek so that their eyes were leveled together. "What Gold did to you was not okay. He preyed upon you and used you."

He knew that his smile was self deprecating. And he knew that very smile that was pulling up the corners of his mouth was the one she hated most. He always saw that piece of brokenness inside her that reflected his rear up whenever he smiled like that. And just like him, her broken parts gave way to anger. This time her anger was righteous and on his behalf. Deserving of it or not, Swan would not be swayed away from his defense.

"Killian Jones, you are a good man." And his heart swelled despite his personal shame. To have the faith of Emma Swan was a precious treasure. "Got it?"

He wasn't sure how to answer her. His mind was still sickly debating the source of his darkness and debating how much free will did the Dark One really take. Could he have done things differently? Could he have done something that would have saved the people he trapped in that damn hat?

"Got it?" Swan was not going to let it go, of that he was certain.

"Aye." She eyed him for a moment before dropping the grip she had on the side of his face. She wouldn't have spotted the lie, for there was none there. He may not believe that it was not his fault, but he believed her. He believed in her.

So once again, Killian Jones, the old pirate, suddenly felt younger than his years. Lighter. More hopeful.

She'd been doing that ever (often without any knowledge of what she was doing) since she spotted him underneath Cora's corpses. Challenging him. Changing him. Saving him.

"Do you know what I want?" She asked. Her fingers had unwoven themselves from his only to thread her arm arm through crook of his. Leaning over, she nudged her adorably dimpled chin on his shoulder. Her face so close he struggled on focusing on it.

"Let me guess," he said followed with a kiss to her brow. "You have gotten yourself significantly closer as the evening tires. It's colder. And you feel you have successfully accomplished something just now. I would say there is a hot chocolate beverage at granny's in your near future."

"Oh," she said pulling back a fraction. "You think you know me so well."

"Aye, love," he said with a laugh while pulling her from the bench. "Just as you know me."

He directed their steps towards the heart of town, his arm tightly wrapped around her shoulders as her's hugged his waist keeping herself close.

"There's something else I want," she said after a moment of companionable silence.

"Pray tell, lass, what is it?"

"A date."

"I do believe it is your turn to plan one." Though the light was dim, he noticed her eyes roll.

"I can plan a date," she muttered.

"Of course you can," he said. "I gave you a template to follow."

"Shhh- Killian," she said slightly pulled away. "You better watch yourself."

They had finally begun nearing the bright lights of Granny's as she ran down of a list of good date ideas. Dinners and movies. Sailing and picnics. Road trips (whenever they figured out the town line issue) and something she called "parking"? When the strung up patio lights shined their lights so he could see Emma's face he pulled them to a stop before they entered the gate.

"You are magnificent," he said after a moment of gazing at her. He had not meant for his voice to catch with awe, but he was grandly rewarded when Emma's face flushed in that particular way of hers telling him that she had never been paid that compliment before. It was his new favorite game to play with her. Finding all the ways to cherish her.

"You're not so bad yourself." Ever the coy one, she pulled him so close he almost taste the kiss she was about to bestow. "But that doesn't get you out of the hot chocolate you're going to buy me."

"Anything else? Pie? Pancakes?"

"Just this," she said before she pressed her lips to his in a searing kiss that took his breath away.

Always healing him.

Always showing him a life worth living.


End file.
